Taking Over
by takethetardis97
Summary: Nearly two decades after Voldemort's downfall, a new movement is on the rise, one that presents a threat to all of wizardkind. This tale follows the adventures of Ro Warner, an English-born Auror enlisted by the MACUSA, whose mission is to bring a stop to an alliance of dark wizards that are calling themselves the Heirs of Grindelwald.
1. Prologue

_September, 2016- Elkhart, Indiana_

Ticking of a timeworn analog clock was the only sound that could be heard throughout the library, a rundown structure in the middle of small-town Indiana. The chipped hour hand had been yearning to dislodge from its spot for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, it had found its rightful place, fashioned over the painted nine, indicating that it was now closing time.

The employees began locking up cabinets, shutting off lights, grabbing their coats. They waved goodbye, wishing one another a blessed Sunday and promising to see each other bright and early Monday morning. Dust particles were dancing in the dim streetlight that streamed through the blinded windows, and the few straggling readers in the room began to make their way towards the door and into the unseasonably cold night.

Two librarians remained. The woman was just preparing to leave, buttoning up her cardigan and straightening the pair of glasses perched on her freckled nose. She loaded a stack of books into her threadbare knapsack, pacing meekly toward the exit and offering a tentative wave to the man behind the front desk. She was met only with a forced grin.

The man was in his early forties, but the thinning of his hair and atrocious state of his teeth made him seem quite a bit older. He glanced around apprehensively, and as soon as he was sure his last remaining colleague was out of sight, he ducked beneath the desk and dug his fingers under the tongue of his workman boot. After a moment or two, he began to extract what appeared to be a small tree branch from the place by his ankle where it was situated. He twisted the wand between his fingers, closely eying the back door as he waited.

A string of commanding knocks came sooner than he had expected, and they thundered louder than he thought they would throughout the library walls. The man yelped at the sound, trotting over to answer the door as quickly as possible, stopping just as he fixed his hand around the knob. Into the darkness of the night, he whispered.

 _"Lumos."_

White light surged from the tip of his wand, and he held the instrument in front of him defensively. With great caution, he twisted the knob and peered around the door to confirm he was being met with the right set of faces.

"Ryszard?"

" _Nah, it's the fucking president of the MACUSA,_ " croaked a man's voice from the dark, "Get that piece of shit wand of yours out of my face, Callahan. We're wasting time." At that, the librarian took a step back and opened the door as widely as possible to allow the small crowd of men to pour in.

Leading the horde was a wiry man, whose muscular arms were adorned in enough tattoos to entirely shroud his reddish skin. His eyes were a sharp and daring green, his face roughed by a masculine grizzle. The man seemed relatively young, late thirties at most, but he had been perceptibly hardened by the world. Furthermore, despite his age, he seemed to have command over every person in his presence.

"What are you waiting for, you half-breed? The room!"

Ryszard cackled while he said this, framing his cutting words as nothing more than playful jab, an outburst the librarian answered with a nervous chuckle. With his balding head lowered, Callahan led the group over to the set of shelves across from them in the small room, which was fixed firmly against the back wall of the library.

Shooting a reaffirming glance back to Ryszard, the older man raised his wand to the books, tapping a sequence of spines with great consideration before motioning the group of men to take a few steps back. Within seconds, the wall began to produce a low rumble, each book vibrating almost imperceptibly in its place on the shelf. In front of their eyes, the books began to crumple in on themselves, each becoming no thicker than a few sheets of paper. Gradually, the dwindling of texts created a space in the shelves, all the way through to the other side of the wall.

A room opened up before them: one that was occupied only by a long table and its surrounding chairs, all traditional and fashioned from oak. The chair positioned at the head of the table was clearly designated for Ryszard, as it was the largest and most extravagant; although from the lack of ornament in the room, that wasn't saying much. The pack shuffled in, taking care to claim seats in an arrangement that the leader would approve. Ryszard's right hand man confidently seized a chair near the head, whereas Callahan accepted his place towards the back of the room. The wall had soon closed up again, sealed by the blue glow of a protective charm.

"Welcome all," the leader announced with outspread arms as he smiled upon the room, "I must say, it's been awhile." The group of men nodded without emotion, listening intently to what the man had to say.

"I regret to announce that things have gotten far worse since the last time we've gathered," sighed Ryszard, "That son of a bitch they've put in office has successfully managed to implement some of the harshest forms of punishment I've seen in years for any wizards that expose magic, or harm his precious No-Majs." Scoffs arose amongst the room's occupants, chiefly from Thorn, the leader's best friend and most fervent supporter. As the sneers died down, the young man continued.

"Quahog has further made a mockery of our heritage by placing No-Maj scum into places of high power within the MACUSA," he reported, seemingly holding back vomit, "Meanwhile, this shameful movement to abolish the few remaining laws of separation between wizards and No-Majs is gaining influence among the filthy blood-traitors that run our congress."

"These Maj-less pussies have gone too far this time, Ed," Thorn growled to Ryszard, who nodded solemnly in concurrence, "How long are we supposed to hide? Do they expect us to just keep up centuries of this bullshit?"

"That's exactly what they expect, Sebastian," Ryszard replied, laughing dangerously as he met his friends eyes, "And that's exactly why they can't be trusted. Furthermore, that's why we're here: because it's our responsibility to our people all over America to do right by wizardkind."

"How?" uttered a deep voice from the middle of the table. The large, formidable man immediately glanced down to the floor like an embarrassed schoolboy, "I'm sorry, sir. I know how strong we've become. But what if we can't take back all that's ours? What if these blood-traitor bastards seize everything first?"

"We all share in your fears, Wolff," Ryszard soothed, observing as every head at the table began nod in agreement, "That's why the coming months are crucial. Our numbers are stronger than ever. Our influence has spanned throughout the country, and soon, I promise you, we will conquer the Earth. But you all must follow my instructions exactly if you hope to reclaim what belongs to you. Otherwise, our kind is doomed."

Suddenly, the room was silent. Every head at the table had turned to face a man who was sitting towards its far end. He was red-faced, bearded, and just on the cusp of elderly, and he was attempting to dislodge the cap from a flask he had retrieved from beneath his cloak. Ryszard cleared his throat, to which the older man peered upwardly to meet his eyes.

"I'm sorry, Higgins, is it?" the leader asked, feigning civility, "You know the rules don't you? No eating or drinking during our congregations." Higgins replied with a hearty chortle, much to the surprise of other men in the room, who seemed to consider the situation with much more severity.

"My apologies, sir, it's just my throat," the elder wizard explained, "I think my son may have given me the mumblemumps. The healer said if I hope to keep my ability to breathe, I'm supposed to drink the concoction every hour or so." The bearded man seemed to believe that he had clarified the matter, and he waited for Ryszard to continue to speak. However, the younger man simply stared back at him with the austere eyes of a hawk.

"I frankly don't care if you have the black plague, Higgins," the leader spat, unamused, "Our organization has rules for a reason." The room filled with silence, and Ryszard could detect desperation growing in his follower's eyes.

"Please, sir," Higgins pleaded gutturally, "My throat will close up if I don't. I won't be able to breathe." Wordlessly, Ryszard shook his head.

"I'm not going to ask you again," replied the younger man, extending an unapologetic hand towards the objector, "Hand over the flask."

The room went quiet. The flask remained in Higgins' clenched fist, trembling along with the old man's fingers. He stared Ryszard in the eyes, almost daringly in spite of his apparent terror. As their leader waited to be given the bottle, Higgins didn't move; he simply stared. Then, with a quick jerk of his elbow, he went in for a swig.

Before Higgins could reach his lips or even comprehend what had happened, the flask was knocked out of the old man's hands, its contents erupting around them. Beige, vomit-like liquid expanded across the planked floor, filling the room with a rather nasty odor.

"Holy shit, Ed," one of the men exclaimed, "This fucker's drinking Polyjuice potion."

At the wizard's outburst, Higgins leapt onto the table, throwing a small stone with all the force he could muster to the hardwood floor. Within seconds, the room filled with a teal-colored fog, and as the smoke cleared, the surrounding men had all fallen to the floor, each sinking into a deep trance.

Ryszard remained standing, however. He removed the protective charm that he had cast around himself, eyeing the man he had thought was his follower, looking up now to meet the eyes of the wizard who scaled the table. Higgins challenged his stare, keeping his wand outstretched.

"Clever. I didn't even notice that you had switched," Ryszard sneered, almost sounding impressed, "I knew it was the real Higgins who had entered the library with me; I have my methods of ensuring that everyone is who they say they are. You must have jumped him before we entered the room."

The man perched on the table could feel his own paltry patch of hair begin to thicken as he stared down the group leader. His nose burned as it shrunk in size, and his skin tingled as it began to tighten across his face and body. Ryszard, however, was unmoved.

"Actually, I'm willing to bet you've infiltrated us more than once," the leader pressed on, seemingly unconcerned with the metamorphosis taking place before him, "I suppose there was a little miscalculation on the Polyjuice concentration this time around, huh? You must be one cocky bastard to bring that shit into my meeting room."

The hair atop the transforming man had ceased to grow at about shoulder length, changing from a tuft of grey to a mop of reddish-brown. He had lost nearly a foot in height, pained from the immense stress coursing through his condensing limbs. As the person wearing Higgins' face continued to return to her original form, Ryszard had suddenly become intrigued.

 _"But who are you?"_

The woman that remained stepped closer to the group leader, wand pointed directly between his dark, mocking eyes. Higgins' clothes hung ridiculously off of her scrawny frame, but nevertheless, she held her ground. It took Ryszard only a moment to recognize her as the young librarian who, after close, always seemed so slow to leave.

"I am Auror Rosalind Warner, MACUSA.," she bellowed, pressing her wand to the criminal's forehead, "And I feel I must tell you this up front, Ryszard: there isn't a chance in the world that you're leaving this room alive."

At her statement, Ryszard began to chuckle, which soon grew into an unruly howl. The auror had to exercise restraint to keep from using the killing curse at that very moment.

 _Not yet, Ro,_ she reminded herself, _There's still more you need to find out._

Ryszard's harsh laughter soon faded, and he responded to her claim with a simple, knowing smile. A smile, and a few mocking words.

"Ah. That, little Rosie, is where you are dead wrong."


	2. Chapter 1

_December, 2015- New York City_

It was morning in the congressional headquarters in New York City, and two women were marching side by side down a lengthy corridor. Reverberating through the hall was the sharp clicking of expensive shoes on decorative tile flooring.

Today was the day that Auror Beda Bishop introduced her new hire to the rest of her investigative team. The department head was beginning to wonder if she had made the right decision, especially as she considered how inexperienced her new underling had come across as they reconvened earlier that morning. Nevertheless, as they walked, she didn't speak to the girl. The pair of them hardly even acknowledged each other's existence.

The elder of the aurors was tall, nearing six feet, with short, dark hair and severe eyes. Stress lines were etched permanently into her face from years of undertaking. She towered over her subordinate, who radiated youth, and whose frizzy auburn locks sprung outwardly with every stride.

There was something of a gleam in the girl's eyes, an excitement that was foreign or lost to most of the others in the department. Every auror on site was aware of the devotion displayed by the young woman in her efforts to join this investigative team. She told anyone who would listen of her fixation, an ambition that took root from the moment she heard the news reports that detailed the terror attacks plaguing the States.

Upon reaching the end of the hall, the two aurors found themselves in a wide, open room, which was occupied by antique wooden desks, flying letters, and flittering quills scratching notes on parchment. The younger watched in awe as her chief approached the cluster of workstations, audibly clearing her throat: a gesture that, alone, was enough to prompt her team's immediate gathering in the center of the chamber.

"Good morning, everyone," the tall woman saluted, addressing the medley of diverse members that stood in the room before her, "When the time is right, I'd like you all to extend your welcomes to Auror Rosalind Warner, the newest addition to our Investigative Department. Ms. Warner is a transfer from the Ministry over in the UK, where she has spent the better part of a decade fighting against the forces of dark magic."

The young woman sent a bashful grin in the direction her associates, who nodded back as a demonstration of camaraderie. A few of the eyes that fell on her seemed skeptical, but most of the current team appeared content with a new addition to the task force.

"I know there is a lot to discuss," Bishop interrupted before any words could be exchanged, "For the time being, however, I want you all to get back to work."

The team had yet to budge before Bishop had turned to address he most recent hire directly. "Ms. Warner, I ask that you please accompany Auror Riley to the central office to go over our collections and get you up to speed on the current investigation."

Allowing the head of the task force to finish her sequence of requests, Ro Warner's gaze traveled over the team standing before her, quick to find the wizard among them who was ostensibly Auror Riley. The eagerness in his eyes and nervous energy riddled into his movements made her guide relatively easy to identify.

The man was tall and rather younger looking than the rest of the group: perhaps in his late twenties or early thirties. His body was slender, hair a bit flyaway, hazel eyes large and almost childlike. Though, his features were quite handsome in a way that was fairly hard to explain.

As she examined the way the Auror straightened his glasses, or the way he seemed to stare more to the ground than into her eyes, Ro guessed that he might be the type who was into books, and knitted sweaters, and warm cups of earthy tea. In other words, he was precisely the opposite of what she might think an American auror for the MACUSA would be like. She considered, however, that as a native Brit, her characterization was probably a bit unfair.

As she paced toward Riley, he offered her a half grin and gestured for her to follow after him as he began to stride down yet another long corridors in the government office. Ro followed suit, and their descent into the depths of the building began rather quietly. She studied her new colleague closely as he walked just a half-step ahead of her, somewhat intrigued by the auror. She found herself wanting to ask questions.

"I've heard good things about you, Mr. Riley," she stated plainly, keeping her gaze fixed ahead of her as they marched. This had been true; although she had only just met the man, she had been familiar with the name. In the few times she had heard 'Peter Riley' mentioned, the name was generally accompanied by a chorus of praises from whoever had spoken it.

"Oh, really?" he uttered innocently, seemingly a bit confused. He had to be taking the piss, she thought. No man could be this unaware of his own success. She continued to speak, however, playing into his claimed ignorance.

"Of course. Top marks at Ilvermorny, probably the brightest wizard and most capable auror of your generation," she listed, trying to keep the reverence from edging its way into her voice, "Also, I overheard Blackwood saying you spent time as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, all while still keeping your position here? You can't tell me that isn't impressive."

"I appreciate it," he replied simply, seeming almost embarrassed by the mention of his accomplishments, "Though, if you don't mind me saying, all that I've achieved is practically nothing compared to the difficulty you managed to overcome a few years back."

Ro went silent for a moment. It didn't take her any time at all to realize what he was referring to: The Battle of Hogwarts, 1998. She was thirteen when it happened, but she was among the group of the younger students who had escaped their dormitories to join in the combat. Ro was one of the few lucky ones, the ones who were still alive to tell the tale. Regardless, that all seemed like a lifetime ago.

"Please. I was a schoolgirl at the time," she replied softly, shaking off the eerie feeling that would threaten to overcome her every time she thought of those days, "That hardly affects my qualifications as an auror." It was true. She was frankly just lucky to have made it off the grounds alive that day, especially as she considered how inexperienced she had been at the time. However, Riley seemed to reject her modesty, politely shaking his head.

"I disagree," he replied in an uncharacteristically blunt tone, "In fact; I think that was a big part of why Bishop brought you on." Ro peered up at him, confused. She had been wondering why she was chosen; bearing in mind the immense talents of her fellow task force members, she didn't think she could possibly measure up. Riley picked up on her expression and frowned, deciding to go on.

"I think that you have some of the most experience with dark magic of anyone on this team," he clarified, "A person could train for years to go up against this kind of stuff, but you really have no idea what the fight requires until you experience it firsthand."

They had reached the main room. As he stood on the other end of the table, retrieving stacks of parchment and periodicals with the flick of his wand, Auror Riley met her eyes with visible sincerity. As a somewhat uncomfortable feeling washed over her, however, Ro could only offer her colleague a weak smile in return.

"Well, the training certainly doesn't hurt," she replied, staring more at the flying bits of parchment than at the man across the table. He turned to grab a few documents as they fluttered by, analyzing the texts while still addressing the woman across from him.

"I'm curious though, why MACUSA?" he asked conversationally, "I mean, I know things aren't perfect across the pond, but this case in particular… If I weren't from here, I'd say the U.S. was on its own." Ro laughed for a moment; she was familiar with that sentiment. Many of her friends back in England said she was mad for trying to change the state of things in the States.

"I've seen movements like this grow before, from their roots," she answered honestly, allowing her gaze to trail into the background, "Maybe it's an American problem now, but the ideas they're propagating are a threat to the entire wizarding world. I'm willing to go anywhere or do anything to stop that happening."

Riley smiled and nodded. He seemed to understand completely what she was getting at.

"I'm really glad to hear you say that," he said softly, "We never expected them to get this far." The man appeared more sad than combative as he analyzed the readings in his fists, quickly passing them over to Ro and allowing the emotion to drain from his face.

"Here is our record of their movements in the last few months," he informed her softly, watching as her eyes trailed down to the documents. Ro accepted the stack of papers, examining the topmost piece of evidence first. It was a newspaper from not too long ago.

"There was an attack at Ilvermorny?" Ro asked, completely startled by the story laid out in front of her. In the photograph, a group of four teenage boys were shouting and laughing while they were being apprehended. Bits of saliva flew from their mouths as they screamed, looking more akin to wild dogs than young men.

"About a month ago... A couple of sixth-years rounded up fifteen students from No-Maj families and tortured them in an empty classroom," Riley responded solemnly, avoiding her eyes, "Three were killed, and seven of them remain in the hospital to this day. The oldest among the victims was thirteen."

"Blimey," Ro responded, staggered by what she had come to learn.

When she read the reports, she was instantly reminded of her third year in school, during which the Death Eaters known as the Carrows were using the Cruciatus Curse freely on schoolchildren. Even those monsters had limits, though. No student had been driven mad, or killed within the castle walls. This level of brutality was something unique: _and to be committed by children, no less._

"How were you able to identify a connection back to Heirs of Grindelwald?"

A dry laugh escaped Auror Riley's lips at her question, and he ran his fingers angrily through his light brown curls.

"The older kids wouldn't shut up about it, to be honest," he muttered, seeming as though he might spit upon the images smiling up at him from the papers, "I think the whole attack was just a way of proving their worth." The woman nodded in agreement, and Riley began to flatten out the newspaper article and corresponding auror report onto the table. "As they were being dragged out of Ilvermorny, they were shouting to anyone who would hear it _Für das Allgeminwohl!_ "

Ro had not been fluent in German, but she certainly was familiar with the phrase.

" _For the Greater Good_ ," she whispered, to which Riley nodded gravely.

"Additionally," he continued, biting his lip in noticeable discomfort, "They were reported as saying that they were showing those students their rightful place in society." Ro gulped at the horrid images that flashed through her mind, trying to maintain her ability to properly consider the facts.

"These certainly mirror the rantings of your typical blood supremacists," she admitted dispassionately, "But can we be absolutely sure they have ties to the H.O.G.?" Her male colleague seemed to guess she would press the matter, nodding along as she spoke.

"The level of organization required to round up these students, and to administer such complex forms of torture, all undetected…" he trailed off for a moment, seeming almost fascinated, "…regardless of if they are directly involved with the organization , there is no doubt that their influence was at play here."

Ro couldn't argue with his logic; she could not wrap her head around the incredible lengths that the boys went to in order to commit the attack. And for what gain? Were they simply hoping to send a message? It seemed far more likely that something greater was at play.

"Furthermore, the boys cited a name that we've been hearing a lot around here lately," the male auror reported. Ro was suddenly even more intrigued.

"What do you mean they cited a name?" she probed, putting the documents aside and staring directly at Riley for answers, "Did they implicate other potential group members?" The man shook his head nervously.

"If our suspicions are correct they did a lot more than that," he informed her, "These boys may have actually helped us identify the organization's leader."

"Leader?" she blurted, somewhat muddled, "Are you telling me that, in the multiple places H.O.G has cropped up across the States, they all take orders from the same bloke?"

"That is our current understanding of the matter," Riley confirmed flatly.

Ro was not sure if she was properly grasping the situation. She couldn't believe what Riley was saying: the fact that these boys had been the key in confirming the identity of perhaps the most dangerous wizard in America.

"Well, spit it out, Riley," she pressed on, "What's the bloody name?" As Ro stared up at him with eager green eyes, the man bit the inside of his cheek, peering down at his feet before gathering his thoughts to answer.

"We believe the man we are looking for is called Edmon Ryszard."


	3. Chapter 2

_January, 2016- MACUSA Department of Magical Law Enforcement Headquarters, NYC_

It was just reaching dawn on a Monday, and most of the team had arrived early to central office. Five aurors were idling in the lounge; one woman was stirring mugs of coffee with the flick of her wand, distributing the drinks amongst her coworkers using a levitation charm.

Ro reached for her mug, which threatened to spill over as it glided her way. Once the beverage had landed safely between her bony fingers, she inhaled its robust aroma. Sipping happily at the dark Americano, she sent a roguish grin in the direction of her colleagues as they began to take the surrounding seats.

"So how was everyone's weekend?" followed the familiar chirp of a female colleague. Ro peered up to meet the speaker's eyes, which had now become a sparkling shade of violet. The smile offered to her by the woman was enough to light up the room.

"Auror Tabitha Moon was perhaps the most beautiful witch Ro had ever seen. She had perfect lips, a radiant brown complexion, and eyes that others often found themselves lost within. Moon was the next youngest member of their band of aurors, aged only above Ro and Riley, and the energy with which she carried herself was practically inexhaustible.

Her sunny disposition aside, there was one thing about Auror Moon that Ro found especially interesting. She had a condition, one Ro had only ever seen maybe once or twice before in her lifetime. Moon was a metamorphomegus, and it was often joked around the office that her gift was the main reason she was recruited: that, or her uncanny ability to make the perfect cup of coffee.

It took a moment before anyone responded to the auror's friendly inquiry, as the rest of them were still recovering from the usual Monday-morning grogginess. After a deep sip of his flat white, though, Riley finally piped up in response.

"I actually attended a remarkable lecture on new legislative changes surrounding the brewing and use of Amortentia," the auror rambled, with wide and enthusiastic eyes amplified by his spectacles, "It's really a shockingly under-addressed issue." As he prepared to go on, he was interrupted by a mocking snort from across the couch.

"Legislative changes," a dark-haired man repeated sarcastically, "Sounds real interesting, Pete." As the jockish auror unfolded a copy of the daily newspaper, a female coworker seated in the next chair rolled her eyes.

"Ignore Blackwood. He's just upset that they're regulating his only means of picking up women," the auror deadpanned, staring at Riley with a flicker of compassion shining through her otherwise stony expression, "I'm honestly pleased to see a man interested in the issues surrounding Amortentia use: especially considering all of the allegations from witches that have been coming out recently." As she was commenting, Ro and Tabitha nodded to express their agreement for her viewpoint.

Ro found herself staring at the woman in admiration. Anyone who knew Auror Gray Seung, an elegant, silver-haired witch in her early forties, knew that she was consistently determined to fight for what she believed in. The newest team member had learned rather quickly how far Seung's determination would take them: she was consistently the most aggressive auror on the task force, displaying her confrontational nature at various points in their investigation. To her comments, though, the muscular man just rolled his eyes and laughed.

"Okay then Miss Activist," Blackwood challenged, raising a playful eyebrow at his associate, "what did you do this weekend?" Everyone stared at Seung in newfound curiosity, which prompted to the stylish witch to simply shrug.

"I was helping my kids pack to head back to school, mostly," the woman disclosed, sipping nonchalantly at her tea and turning the page of her novel. Blackwood backed down, unable to come up with a witty comeback. On the other hand, at Seung's mention of her children, Auror Moon's eyes lit up.

"Aw, how are the twins?" the young witch gushed, leaning forward across the small apothecary table. Seung offered a faint smirk at her young colleague's question, picking at her decorative fingernails before replying.

"Alistair has top marks, as usual, she began, a proud smile threatening her lips, "And Apollo—well he's gone a whole semester without blowing anything up." Delighted smiles formed across the aurors' faces, all remembering fondly how night-and-day Auror Seung's twin boys could be.

"They grow up so fast," Ro remarked, much to the others' amusement. Before more could be discussed about Alastair and Apollo, however, the door to the lounge came swinging open, slamming against the wall right next to a startled painting of the organization's founder.

Auror Bishop strode purposefully through the entrance way, dark hair seeming somewhat more disheveled than usual. Stress lines encircled her dark eyes, which were filled with an amount of gravity that was rare, even for the serious chief of the H.O.G. investigative task force. All five her underlings met her with panicked glances, not sure how to react to her abrupt entrance.

"Hey Bishop, what's with the expression?" Blackwood asked lightly, not seeming to grasp the severity of the situation, "Don't tell me we've been tipped off about more meetings." Bishop hardly acknowledged Blackwood, instead deciding to address the entire room.

"No, she answered flatly, "I need everyone in the furnace hall." The five aurors exchanged confused glances, which only seemed to make Bishop more impatient.

"Floo?" Auror Moon asked, bewildered, "Where are we going? What happened?" Riley stood beside her, seemingly with his own set of concerns.

"Ma'am, King and Byrne haven't arrived yet," he protested apprehensively. Bishop appeared unfazed by this information.

"Auror King's manor is joined to the Floo Network. He's on his way now," she assured them in a harsh monotone, "As for Byrne, I've alerted her through her enchanted Dragot, so she should be apparating to headquarters shortly to man the office in case any other news comes our way. Now if you all would please…" She held open the heavy door, signaling for her underlings to exit the room.

The six of them marched in a line down the corridor in the direction of the Floo access points, a sequence of fireplaces in a large hallway of the MACUSA headquarters. Each auror was silent, too afraid to address their noticeably tense supervisor. After several minutes, however, Ro couldn't keep quiet any longer.

"Please ma'am, what's happened?" she begged the woman just as they had reached the line of fire places. Bishop distributed grayish powder amongst her subordinates, clasping each of their palms deliberately as she presented them with handfuls of ash. The chief chose not to meet Ro's eyes when she finally spoke.

"There's been another attack," she informed the group soberly, "We're being called to Massachusetts to investigate the crime scene." The aurors fell completely silent, looking to Bishop for any further information she would give.

"Don't tell me…Salem?" Blackwood moaned, probing his boss for answers, "That's the third murder this month!" A few seconds of silence hung uncomfortably in the air between them before Bishop finally shook her head.

It wasn't a murder, Blackwood," she whispered, stepping into the fire place and preparing to throw down her handful of ash, "This was a mass execution."


	4. Chapter 3

_Salam, Massachusetts_

"Jeremiah, I'm glad you made it."

The six aurors had arrived in rural Salem not too much earlier, with the chief among them reaching out to welcome an approaching figure. The incoming wizard was Auror Jeramiah King, an older gentleman with dark skin and bushy eyebrows, who approached his team sporting his characteristic flat cap and grey, vintage suit. He grasped Bishop's hand in his own, shaking emphatically.

"I don't think I've ever been called on site this early" King muttered from under his bushy mustache, "It must be serious." The chief nodded, turning to lead the group in the direction of the meet-up location.

"From how tight-lipped Bishop's being about the whole thing, it sounds like quite the aberration," Blackwood whispered sardonically to King, making sure to remain out of Bishop's earshot. King huffed in slight amusement at the younger man's remark.

"We're talking multiple murders, Oren," Seung interrupted, less heartened by her partner's comment, "The least you could do is show a little respect."

"You know what they say, Seung," Blackwood smirked, maneuvering his wand impressively between his fingertips, "If you don't laugh, you cry." The woman had become noticeably tensed, fighting back an urge to either smile or punch him in the mouth.

After a short walk across the grassy field by the Floo access point, the team approached a sweaty looking man, who stood idly in front of a rusted, ramshackle semi-truck. Upon seeing them approach, the larger gentleman began to trudge forward, swiping one hand through his brown hair before reaching out with the other to greet the team.

"You must be the H.O.G. task force from the Auror Division," he barked, sounding much like a soldier in the way he spoke, "I'm Webster Columbus from the F.B.C.V.N.O" As he finished his introductions, Ro found it hard to suppress a chuckle.

"Wow. So you lot really do say that every time?" she joked, earning her a disapproving stare from Bishop. Columbus eyed her for a moment, seemingly unsure of how to respond.

"Not to be insensitive, but what exactly are we looking at?" Seung interupted, drawing the man's attention to the confusing prospect in front of them. He peered back at the team, who all seemed quite confused by the sight. On the other hand, Columbus seemed to think the answer was obvious.

"Well, as you folks surely know, my job here is to uphold the international statute of secrecy and so forth," the man explained, scratching his head and gazing in front of him, "That being said, what you're seeing here is the crime scene." The seven aurors were silent, all apparently missing some important detail.

"It's just a busted delivery truck," Moon whispered suddenly, not quite understanding what the officer was getting at. To this, Columbus nodded with a darkened expression.

"Well yeah," he concurred, retrieving a timeworn wand from a holster at his hip, "But once I remove the protective charm…"

Columbus allowed his wand to glide through the air like a knife through butter, and the scene began to change. Before their eyes, the rusted old truck seemed to melt into something entirely different: something horrifying.

A platform fashioned from splintering wood stood proudly in the grass before them. Pillars emerged from the structure, and hanging from the frame were several ropes. Attached to each, a young woman. Not one looked older than thirty.

"Merlin's tits" whispered Blackwood, mouth agape as he drank in the scene. Despite the vulgarity of their coworker's remarks, the rest of the team wore matching expressions at the scene. Suddenly, a whimper sounded from the end of the line of aurors.

"Oh god," Tabitha breathed, a wave of anxiety washing over her face, "I don't know if I can do this." The metamorphamegus went to cover her eyes, trying to shield herself from the image: one that had already taken root in her brain.

"Get your shit together, Moon. We've dealt with worse than this,"Seung instructed from down the line, attempting to sound stern but unable to hide her sympathy for the younger team member.

"I'm not sure about that," Riley answered back, looking positively scarred himself. Despite his visibly shaken disposition, however, the man's eyes were clearly scrutinizing every minor detail of the display before him.

"Did any Muggles witness the scene before you arrived, sir?" Ro piped, addressing Columbus with a steady voice.

"Mu-?"

"No-Majs," she corrected irritably, "Did any of them see the message?"

"We think we were able to cast the protective charm before anything serious was able to get out," the large man assured her, "We had to obliviate a few college kids, though. Took their recording devices as well."

"Smartphones?" Riley blurted, eyes still fixed on the bodies, "You know they have ways of sharing pictures through a network, right?"

"Yes I do, son," Columbus replied indignantly, as the non-magic world was his area of expertise, "But there's no connection out this way. We've been able to stifle it with a charm ever since all these weird things started happening. We wouldn't want the wrong thing to get caught on camera."

"Do you have ID on the girls?" inquired Auror King in his usual, stern manner.

"Most of them, yes," offered Columbus, "Some of their faces were too damaged to say for sure."

"And?" Ro pressed, stepping towards King and Columbus, "Any commonalities?"

"They were all No-Maj, ma'am."

The group of aurors gulped solemnly at the implications. They didn't want to believe it, but now there was no denying that this crime was commited for some larger purpose.

"Guys, look at this," Riley called to them. He had approached the crime scene without the slightest hesitation, and was now staring intensely into the face of one of the victims.

"Oh Peter! Please don't mess with the bodies!" Moon shouted to her colleague, completely horrified. However, the young man did not back away at her request.

"No seriously," the auror urged, "There's something here." As he examined the face of a mutilated corpse a bit too closely, the chief of the investigative team began to show her concern.

"Riley, don't contaminate the crime scene," Auror Bishop ordered, looking upon her subordinate with a fair amount of confusion. The lower-ranking auror had grown incredibly impatient at this time, trying to focus solely on the task at hand.

"I'm not, just look!"

The young man was sliding a folded bit of parchment from between the lips of the center victim, wiping the blood from his hands before flattening the sheet on one of the structure's posts.

"What is that?" Ro inquired, stepping forward to try and get a better look at what her colleague had been holding.

"It's a message," Riley gulped. Before he could find the words to say about what he had read, Blackwood snatched the parchment from his trembling fingers, analyzing the chicken scratch words on the bloodstained note and delivered them aloud.

 _"No-Maj scum,"_ he began, looking as though he might be sick, _"Years ago, you slaughtered our women here in Salem."_

 _"It's time that we return the favor. H.O.G"_


End file.
